


Bill & Fleur's Excellent Honeymoon

by storyplease



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, F/F, F/M, Gen, Honeymoon, Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyplease/pseuds/storyplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone thinks that Fleur is too good for scarred, ugly Bill, or that Bill is too good for an airheaded beauty like Fleur, who might just cheat on him. Little do they know that both of them have secrets and their own inner demons that never seem to rest unless they are at each other's side. For what is love, but the feeling that one has finally come home?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bill & Fleur's Excellent Honeymoon

“Eeeets not faaaair!” Ginny said with an exaggeratedly fake French accent, standing on a kitchen stool with a towel wrapped around her neck like a cape.

Her mother snorted with laughter.

“Now, now, that’s really just..terrible!” Molly Weasley said, though her voice was far from stern as she tried to hide a smile, “We shouldn’t make fun of... _Bill_!”

“Mum! Were you even paying attention? You know that was my best impression of F-” Ginny cut off, her face going pale as she turned and found the root of her mother’s strained expression.

Bill stood in the doorway, the expression darkening his face looking eerily similar to Molly’s famous heart-stopping scowl.

“You think that I don’t see you making fun of her,” he said softly, a small ragged hitch in the back of his throat, “But I _do_.  Ginny, I know you’re still young, which is hardly an excuse, but there’s none for you, Mum.”

Molly’s face flickered for a moment, and he realized that she was staring at the cursed scars that ran across his face.  There it was again.

_Guilt._

_Sadness._

_Regret._

_Righteous but futile anger._

He was used to the stares and whispers by now. After all, it had been several years from the terrible night that Fenrir Greyback had torn his world in two.  Bill Weasley had always been a handsome, likeable bloke, but it had never been something he thought about much.  It was only when he started noticing people shrinking instinctively away from him, when he saw that worried flicker in others eyes, realizing that the only frame of reference for werewolves was the murderous child-snatching Greyback.  At least the goblins did not mind.  After all, they thought of  wand users as only slightly less annoying than mountain trolls.  And so, Bill had ample opportunity to become well-practiced at pretending that he couldn’t hear the rude words about his appearance from many of the patrons at Gringotts.  He found it quite ironic that the very witches and wizards who prided themselves on being superior to muggles and humanoid magical creatures often spent so much time behaving in such a low manner, but this was not the first hypocrisy that he’d noticed, and he was certain it would not be the last.

The cursed scars pained him most when the moon waxed in the sky, throbbing painfully as though they’d been freshly reopened.  He was immensely grateful that Fleur had plenty of experience serving dishes of raw meat that were specially prepared so that he felt that he was eating haute cuisine instead of tearing into flesh like an animal as the wounds throbbed and ached.  She prepared charmed heating packs that never cooled to place against the wounds, which helped immensely, and it was only when he saw her preparing them for herself that he realized why she knew how to do such a thing in the first place.  Having never quite understood the monthly pain that women went through at the whims of biology upon the lunar cycle, Bill found himself developing fresh appreciation for those who could function even with a natural monthly curse that sapped their strength.

“I still cannot believe, after everything we’ve been through, that you still dislike my wife,” Bill said darkly, his eyes hardening even as both Molly and Ginny wore remorseful looks in response.

“It’s just…” Ginny said uncertainly, “Now that the war is over and things are getting better...what if she...what if she realizes that she made a mistake?”

“What sort of _mistake_ are you referring to?” Bill replied, trying to control the anger in his voice.  

Ginny just stared at the floor and refused to answer, even though Bill could already tell what she would have said, had she the courage to finish her thoughts.

He and Ginny weren’t really close, but he knew that she still loved her brother and was as fiercely protective about him as she was about them all.  But they rarely talked, so he supposed that to her, Bill Weasley was this _idea_ \- a cool older brother who did cool things.  By the time she was out of diapers, he had already begun to shave and go on dates.  And he knew that after... _well_...after Fred...it seemed as though the Weasley women had gotten far more protective of their own after losing one of their number in the final battle against Voldemort at Hogwarts.  Ginny had taken it especially hard.  It had strained her thick-as-thieves relationship with George, and Ron had stepped in, taking their one-eared brother on as a business partner.  Percy had moved into a flat in London with his fiance and Charlie was still off taming dragons and sending slightly scorched postcards every so often.  For the first time since the Burrow was first inhabited, the happy chaos in the Weasley home had dwindled to nearly nothing, and the silence seemed to nearly roar in its absence.

And Bill would not have even visited the Burrow in the first place, especially not on the eve of his big honeymoon trip, but he had realized at the last minute that he’d left his charmed rucksack in the attic, and he would need it to pack his things.

“Fleur and I are looking forward to our belated honeymoon abroad.  After all, we were rudely interrupted at our wedding and had to go into hiding immediately.  I will be sure to send you a postcard,” he said quickly but softly as he turned to go out through the kitchen door, “I just wish that you could be happy for me, at least.  Even if you have to fake it.  We love each other and that isn’t going to change. If you want to actually see me, you may consider changing your behavior so that I come by more often than simply to pick up something I need.  Goodbye, then.  I’ll be sure to send a postcard.”

Molly’s eyes were filled with tears as she looked up at her eldest son.  Even now, under the scarred, torn face and the bright blue eyes that stared balefully at her, she could remember the baby that he’d been in her arms- so tiny, so beautiful, so perfect, so hers.

She sighed and rubbed her soapy hands on her apron.  

“We are both very sorry that you saw that. Bill, I am glad that you are happy,” she said finally, Ginny nodding silently next to her mother in agreement, “And while Fleur and I.. _well_..we have our differences, we both agree that we love you more than anything in the world.”

Bill’s mouth quirked up on one side as his mother rushed over to hug him.  He couldn’t help it.  She was so short that he could probably rest his chin on the top of her head and still need to bend down a bit to do so.

“I love you too, Mum,” he said as she crushed the life out of him with her embrace.

“You be safe, you _hear_? No big risks or strange dark forests!” Molly replied, squeezing harder, “I look forward to that postcard.”

They waved cheerily as Bill strode to the end of the driveway and Apparated away.

Molly and Ginny looked at each other. Their collective sigh of relief afterwards was so loud that the ghoul in the attic stuck its bloated nose out of the attic window and shook a gooey plasma-covered fist at them for disturbing what had been a very restful nap. 

* * *

 At the same moment, Fleur Weasley was also contending with her fair share of pointed fingers and not-so-subtle whispers about her body.  She was picking up some last minute groceries before they picked up their portkey to the Parisian countryside, where they’d be staying in a quaint cottage and had a full itinerary of day trips and excursions to enjoy their time abroad.  Fleur herself had grown up in a small town in the South of France, and had only visited Paris a handful of times during the summer.  Going without her family was going to be a big change and she was more than a little nervous about it.

“Hey there, cutie! Fancy a kiss?” warbled a man with a red nose who stank of cigarettes and cheap booze.

Fleur pointedly ignored him with a sniff.

He began to swear and threaten her after that, following her until the crowd got thick enough to make it difficult to keep up.  

Fleur ignored him even more pointedly with her nose in the air, walking faster and faster until she’d left him far behind, and then she allowed herself to tremble, a little with fear, but mostly with rage, her hand tucked into her robes and grasping tightly around her wand.

_How dare he think that I am a piece of meat for sale?_

She often thought that, had she been able to turn off the alluring otherworldly glow that she’d inherited from her Veela heritage, she would do so in a heartbeat.  It had been horrible enough hitting various pubertal milestones while at school and away from her mother and sister, but the moment she began to develop breasts and hips, so too did the hypnotic effect she seemed to have on others.  It was like a passive glow that constantly emanated from her body, and her classmates had been either jealous or frightened of it. The truth was that most of the time, she hated it.  She couldn’t go anywhere without being stared at.  And regardless of whether or not it was because she was attractive instead of repulsive, it was honestly an uncomfortable experience.  Especially since the Veela’s power didn’t _actually_ make people _like_ her.  It just made people _lust_ after her, _want_ her.

 _Possess her._   

Like an object to keep in a cage and show off to guests.

The truth of the Veela was far darker than anyone knew, but Fleur had been told many a time by her grandmother, and she fluctuated between feeling darkly proud and disgusted. Veela drew people to chase them by magically appealing to and enhancing their lust.  Then they’d run into the forest, allowing the hapless human to chase them until they were far enough away from potential help.  And that was when the beauty turned into a beast and devoured the would-be suitor, leaving only the bloody stumps of hands and feet behind.

Of course, this did not stop mortal men from desiring to possess a Veela, as though it said anything more than what barbaric lengths they would stoop to in order to obtain one.

The only way to bed a Veela was to bind the wrists and ankles and feed the creature only seawater and vegetables for a week and a half, until her glow weakened and she appeared nearly mortal.  This would make a Veela docile and tame, unable to fight. For the duration of the relationship, the Veela would be deprived any animal flesh, lest she regain her terrifying powers and eat her husband, leaving the feet and hands on the front doorstep along with abandoned children, who would often be left to fend for themselves.

But Bill...he’d been the first person outside of her immediate family who was _immune_ to her charms. At first, she’d thought it was a fluke.  Maybe he just didn’t like women in _that_ sort of way, after all, for Fleur had met a number of men of that particular persuasion. But then she’d seen the way he looked at some of the particularly attractive female clients at the bank and she found herself aching for him to look at her that way.

Fleur was not used to asking out potential suitors.  Most of the time, they came to her, one way or another.  They couldn’t help it, after all. But Bill was anything but ordinary.  It had taken more than a week for her to work up the nerve to talk to him and ask him to coffee, and he’d had to reschedule twice due to mix-ups at the bank that forced him to stay late.

By that time their date finally arrived, she found herself practically drooling when she saw him, though luckily for her, she hadn’t inherited the Veela’s serrated beak and taste for human flesh with her unearthly glow and silvery perfect hair.

Of course, for a week out of each month, she desired her meat quite rare indeed.  She would never tell anyone this, of course, not until after Bill had been in recovery and she finally revealed tearfully that she too knew more about fearing one’s inner monsters than anyone would ever suspect.  

He’d merely squeezed her hand weakly and looked at her in that way that struck her heart, the way that say _I see the real you and love you all the more,_ and rasped, “Well, I guess that’s another thing we’ve got in common, then.”

Fleur knew then that she would either live at his side for life, bear his children, journey with him from the ends of the earth to around the block or die of a broken heart without him.

And it infuriated her to no end that no one believed her.

But all of that anger was as nothing next to the nearly physical waves of devotion she felt when she was with her husband.

Sometimes, Fleur thought that it was quite a good thing for everyone else that she had Bill to keep her in check.  Because sometimes, after a day of being stared at and followed and called nasty names and propositioned for disgusting carnal acts, she wanted to tell them the truth. If someone asked her if she was partially Veela, if that meant she’d have anyone once, it made her want to reply that yes, Veela did like to have anyone once, except for the hands and feet of course, because those were far too gamey.

She wanted to see the widened whites of their eyes as they recoiled in fear and disgust, terrified of the monster that lurked behind the goddess.

And a part of herself understood why the Veela had developed such a taste for human flesh.

After all, it was often the best part about so many human beings.

She checked her watch and swore.

It was a Christmas gift from her father-in-law, who saw the tiny silver muggle device in a shop and told her that he knew it would suit her perfectly.

“It’s waterproof to over a hundred feet,” Arthur Weasley had said proudly with a wink, beaming as she put it on her wrist, “Just in case you find yourself taking any other underwater _excursions_!”

By that time, Fleur had realized where Bill had inherited his seemingly unique ability to remain unaffected by the Veela’s allure, which is why she’d found herself wanting to spend more time with him during family gatherings, even though he often went on at length about muggle devices that she was thoroughly unfamiliar with.  She didn’t understand her mother-in-law’s frightening amount of jealousy, as anyone could see that Arthur Weasley only had eyes for his wife. Years of enduring the jealous behavior and rudeness of women who assumed that her beauty made her think she was better than they were, Fleur could tell that Molly Weasley was not used to being desirable, and she suspected that this made the matriarch of the Weasley clan deeply insecure about her worth as a woman.  But to Fleur, who had been catcalled so many times that she knew the exact look a man would get on his face before saying something disgustingly rude, the thought that Molly had found her first and only love on the first try and could go out in public without being harangued everywhere she went was unbelievably alluring.

In a way, they were both jealous of each other, though for near opposite reasons.

_Merde, I am very nearly late!_

Fleur rushed into the last shop and paid the clerk hurriedly before Apparating to Shell Cottage with a loud crack, her heart pounding in her chest as it realized that soon she would be by the side of the man she loved the most in the entire world.

 

 


End file.
